On the journey

January 1, 2016

The Muse

The Muse (The Inner Voice), by Auguste Rodin, Victoria and Albert Museum, London

He made you look a little
contorted,
head heavily hanging,
legs and hips, angular,
back, twisted.
And eyes closed.
He has made you
heavy
and difficult.
I know you somewhat
differently.
You are the merriment
in what I see,
the fleeting idea
touching my mind,
the recurring image
nudging me:-
'This is important.
Attend to this.'
Your nearness is
wispy as thistledown on the breeze,
passing as the morning dew,
light as an angel's breath
touching my soul.